


In The Closet

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Series: In Moments series [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: ASCEM, Angst, M/M, SpockMcCoyDen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inverted mirrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Closet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ninth Wave of the SpockMcCoyHaven, challenge was "Write an S/Mc involving illegal drugs." This is the sequel to my story In the Dark. It is recommended to read that one first.
> 
> Thanks to JB for beta'ing!
> 
> Originally posted July 2004.

Spock sat in his chair at the science console on the bridge of the Enterprise. To every viewer he would give a picture of maximum concentration, his gaze fixed on one of the screens where long lists of numbers rolled along, results of the latest scientific survey.

However, Spock's mind was on something else entirely.

They had returned from Sarpeidon a week ago, had written their reports and held their final meeting. As if in unvoiced agreement, both Dr. McCoy and he had omitted some details about Zarabeth. He had thanked him in a quiet minute afterwards, but had earned nothing more than the expected caustic remark. Spock had mourned Zarabeth in a Vulcan ritual and then meditated until he had re-established his full control.

Everything was as it should be.

Except the fact that Dr. McCoy, who right after their return had obviously understood Spock's reaction in the ice age, had visibly withdrawn shortly after and since then managed to stay out of Spock's way.

Something Spock found - much to his own surprise - disturbing.

The captain seemed unaware of this, stuck with his own thoughts lately. The mission began to drain all of them, and Spock's estimate was that they would be ordered back before the originally planned five years. Likely, it would pose no problem for the press department to sell their premature return as heroic achievement nevertheless.

However, this was not his actual problem.

Spock laced his fingers together, pressing his forefingers against his lips in thoughts. Thinking of the last days, he finally found what had been amiss - he had never apologized for his behavior. Not one word of regret for manhandling the doctor, without whom he very likely would not even have returned to the Enterprise, so deeply stuck had he been within the violent mind frame and Zarabeth's intriguing - and admittedly arousing - presence.

But why should Doctor McCoy take it personally this time, when any other time he would ascribe such behavior to Spock's Vulcan upbringing, with an underlying note of being pleased that another expectation was being met?

With a high probability, there was an additional factor. Unfortunately, it appeared to be nothing that could be deduced logically, but had to be found out in a talk with the doctor himself. Spock was not looking forward to an overly emotional debate, but if this was necessary to bring their relationship into the former state of relaxed cooperation, he would do it.

He gave up staring at the scrolling data and instead stood up. It was the end of his shift and, after giving over his station to the beta shift, he headed for the lift and left it seconds later on the Sickbay level, striding to the doctor's presumed position.

However, McCoy was not there, his staff claiming he had already left an hour ago. Nor was the doctor in his cabin or the recreation room. He also did not react to a call.

Finally Spock found McCoy only by having his communicator localized from the bridge; he was in one of the quarantine cubicles which were located near Sickbay on the outer hull. It was not a place Spock would ever go to on his own accounts, he thought as he walked along a shady corridor until he stood in front of the small door, which opened for him instantly.

The cubicles were about 3 x 4 meter and had a bull's eye: obviously someone had deduced that it would be preferable for anyone detained here to have a good view at least. The room was heavily lit and, in the tradition of sterilizable material, the surfaces shimmered overly white. In the midst stood most prominently a med bed, on which McCoy lay, arms folded behind his neck and looking very much asleep. Spock made another step until the cubicle's door closed, but reconsidered when the human did not stir at all. He turned to leave again, but the door stood closed even against his attempted override. He was locked in.

"Only authorized medical personnel can unlock this door from the inside," McCoy's voice tuned in. "Which is me and M'Benga."

"As you are awake, Doctor, there is no reason for me to leave," Spock said, and rotated back to him. McCoy gave him a glance from half-opened eyes.

"What do you want?"

When McCoy didn't sit up, Spock drew closer and took the one chair in the room to sit down next to him.

"I wish to speak with you."

"What about?"

"I want to apologize."

"Now that's a new one," McCoy murmured. "You first saved my life and then you almost broke my neck. I think we're even."

"If you think we are even, why do you avoid my presence lately?"

"Good question. Next question?" McCoy closed his eyes again.

Spock looked at him nonplussed. "Doctor?"

"I won't answer it."

"You cannot answer it or you do not want to answer it?" Spock asked slowly.

"Don't want to."

"This is illogical, Doctor. If there is a reason for your behavior, then why would you not want to speak with me about it? Maybe I can do something to rectify possible misunderstandings?"

McCoy slightly lifted one lid upwards. "A) You can't do anything about it. B) There are no misunderstandings between us. If anything, I understand you too well." The lid fell down in place.

If Spock had been human, he would have sighed deeply. As it was, he forced his face into an example of control and thought hard - to no avail. And in front of him, the doctor remained silent.

He should stand up and leave. But for this, he would have to ask McCoy to unlock the door. And that was something he did not want to.

In thought he looked up. His secondary lids closed as he stared into the lights that burned down from above. There had to be a more comfortable setting for them, but for this he would have to give a voice command. Which he did not want to do either.

A small demon rose inside of him, Vulcan pride paired with all too human emotions. This was a puzzle, and all pieces lay in front of him. And the man he wanted answers from was prone to emotional reactions…

"You think you learned something about me which you did not know before. But you have always known that I have emotions." Spock stopped, waiting for a reply. None came.

"In every universe and time, doctor. Ours, the other, the ice age. Did you not want me to explore them? I only regret that it had to be under these circumstances."

There was still no reaction from the bed.

"I have thought about our encounter in the cave. When you…kissed me, I could not react. Not in this universe…not like that. But with Zarabeth, it was on an instinctual base. As it would be if I took your mirror persona's drug of which the formula is still in my possession."

Spock had anticipated every reaction, but not this complete and utter silence.

The demon grew, challenging him. There had to be a way to destroy the wall that seemed to rise between them like transparent aluminum. McCoy was undoubtedly awake, he was listening to Spock's deepest confessions - and ignoring him.

"I wish to explore the possibilities, doctor. For years I struggled with and against you, your probing, your challenges. I realize now that in many aspects my control is extrinsic, not intrinsic as it should be. My encounter with Zarabeth clearly shows this. So you are correct that I have to find my way and to explore my human sides. And I cannot see anyone more qualified to accompany me than you."

He reached down in his pocket, pulling out a small, closed tube which he put on the bed next to McCoy's chest. "I have synthesized a few grams of the drug. I know that you are opposed to its usage. But it is as I always thought - it will free me to my more natural state of mind, not make something out of me which I am not. I was not ready to use it before Zarabeth. But now that I have seen the worst of me" - Spock let a sad smile escape his control - "I have no doubt I can control whatever it will uncloak."

He was finished. He had shown more of himself than he had ever intended. He felt naked, laying open wide for the insulting remarks and sharp accusations that would surely follow his confession.

But there was only silence for a long time. Then McCoy sat up and slipped from the bed, sweeping the tube carelessly down to the floor with his movements. Straightening his uniform shirt, he turned to the door.

"Doctor," Spock said, half accusingly, half pleadingly, and quickly stood up to step in his way. "Do you have nothing to say?"

McCoy looked him right into the eyes. "No," he said simply.

"No?"

"I didn't ask for your confessions, and I don't owe you anything for listening to them. Given what you've told me, I better forget it anyway." He wanted to pass, but Spock remained in his path.

"You owe me, doctor," Spock said sharply. "That I am what I am today is partly the result of your behavior toward me."

"I taught you threatening fellow officers?" McCoy retorted, but then added seriously, "maybe I am. But you're an adult, and I'm an adult, and we both should know what's best for us. So I'll leave through this door now and we never had this discussion."

"No."

Spock listened to the echo of his own voice in fascination as the word hung between them. McCoy stared at him.

"No, Doctor," he repeated. "I do not want to forget this discussion, because we did not have a discussion. What more do you want to hear from me? I apologized. I explained myself. It is your turn now. Talk to me."

McCoy shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, Spock. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to explain myself, and I'm not interested in your explanations. What's so hard to understand about me taking a time-out?"

It was like trying to catch the Vulcan eels of his childhood, Spock realized. They teasingly danced in front of one's eyes until one ran after them, digging into the ground a small, unstable hole of which the walls constantly threatened to collapse. But wherever one searched, they were gone already. And the only things gathered in the end were scratched hands and sandy clothes.

But that was not enough for him. He wanted an answer from McCoy, not tomorrow, not in a year, but here and now. For once determined he reached out, taking hold of his colleague and pressing him against the wall. The answer was so close, so reachable behind those blue eyes that once again showed no fear…never showed fear with him… With his free hand, Spock reached for the melting points.

The next thing he felt were not McCoy's whirling thoughts, but a sharp pain in his solar plexus, causing him to return to reality where he found himself crouched against the bed, fighting for breath.

"I was surprised then, but I'll be damned if I'm ever surprised by you or any of your impersonations again, Spock," McCoy stated icily. "If you've had enough emotional breakdowns for now - I'd like to leave this place." He walked to the door and unlocked it. "And you better get out of here with me." He switched off the lights and left.

For a second, all Spock could perceive was absolute darkness. Then he staggered into the doorframe and stared after the leaving man through the shady corridor. A part of him wanted to apologize yet again, but all words died as he realized that - just as it had not been enough last time - it was not enough this time. This loss of control was way beyond apologies or rationalizations.

Two weeks later, Spock was on his way to Gol. And McCoy spent some more nights in the cubicle and many more on Earth in an apartment that largely resembled it, before he left for parts unknown.


End file.
